


The Blame Game

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: And they worry about each other, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick get's sick, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason get's hurt, Patrol, Sick Fic, also there are flashback's to the Bane stuff from Batman rebirth, but basically, kind of case fic, pov switching, so much happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 20:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13348545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: While on a case together Jason gets hurt, and Dick realizes he's sicker than he thought he was.





	The Blame Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in Batman Rebirth after the arc where Bane attacks Gotham.

Sometimes life sucked. Case in point, the man trying to strangle the life out of Jason, and Jason’s less than helpful fingers scrambling to slip under the rope. If it wasn’t obvious being strangled sucked, not being able to do a lot about it doubled that. In between gripping uselessly at the constricting rope, he was half shoved into the guardrail of a metal walkway so rusted, Jason was sure it was bound to crack under the pressure any second.

He’d be happy to be able to push off properly, shove the back of his head into the man’s jaw and fix everything, but the angle was crap. One wrong move and he’d be over the edge, hanging like a sock puppet. Jason’s ‘been hung’ box was already checked off for the year, so instead of kicking for movement he slid his foot just enough the bottom groove of his shoe caught in one of the rail’s poles, better anchoring him in place.

It was fine. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get any air in, he still had time to figure something out. And Nightwing was somewhere in the building. He should have been right behind Jason, but when he’d broken out onto the landing above the the machinery and stacks of boxes he’d been alone. Well he’d thought he’d been alone, then the rope, and hands holding it had, joined him. All too soon followed by onions for breath and grunt for words.

Black and blue appeared below him and Jason had the inane urge to wave. As if they were tourists, gotten a little lost somewhere, and he was trying to get his brother’s attention. Jason blamed the black spots starting to speckle his vision, easing in from the outside.

Dick hadn’t seen them yet, he was easing his way deeper into the room, towards one of the machines used to weld bits of metal together. Jason wondered if Dick was even looking for him, or was so distracted by his own investigation he’d forgotten they’d come in together.

A thump, metallic and heavy, was the only warning the walkway gave either of them a half second before the safety rail gave out, the rusted metal splintering and powdering against Jason’s chest like he’d dropped bits of a raspberry doughnut on himself during breakfast. He didn’t so much as flip over the metal, he couldn’t have with the way the rail had burst forward. It was more of a surprised stumbling caused by the lack of pressure at his middle, and the entire rail’s shaking as more bits started to snap and scream.

The rope caught him. Jason thought for a moment his neck was going to snap, but he hadn’t fallen quite that way, his back bruising against the side of the warping walkway. He caught sight of Dick frozen, and staring at them. If Jason had any air left he would have sworn, as it was the rope started to slip as his attacker shifted above him.

Jason knew he had about a second before he was dropped. Either from the man letting go to hightail it off the still moaning structure, or from him losing his own balance and taking his own tumble. One hand found his grapple, the other darted out for metal, fingers tangling in the grated holes of the walkway. It wasn’t the greatest of grips, but when the pressure from the rope fell away it was what Jason had to anchor him. He gasped in a breath, willing the blackness out of his vision and quick thinking to return.

The walkway screamed as the metal lines holding it up began to snap. The grate beneath his fingers lurched, shaking his grip. Jason pointed his grapple at one of the huge machines, and shot. He pulled away from the falling, twisting, metal in time to see his attacker dart in through the door he’d come out of just minutes before. At least they still had a chance of catching him.

He stumbled his landing, head still spinning a bit from everything. Now that his feet were on solid ground he took a moment to suck in deep gulps of air. As soon as he got his head clear he needed to figure out where Dick was in all this.

* * *

Dick lost Jason when he paused to examine a muddied sign on the wall. Once used to pump out metal fillings, sheets, and odd pieces needed for construction, Duban’s Factory had been left to neglect. In Gotham neglect usually bred worse things. One of those worse things was some henchmen turned entrepreneurs sneaking in to use the machines for things worse than their intended purposes. Faulty screws, latches, and even weakened support beams had been flowing from the place causing more accidents than Dick cared to count.

Who looked at an old factory and thought, hey let’s sell sabotage? Let’s take lives willy nilly. Let’s make a buck off neglect.

He’d stopped to look at the sign for clues. And to catch his breath. They’d been moving all night, finding the place, searching the grounds, and now the inside. Despite the chill in the air he was stifled. He hadn’t checked before they left, but now Dick was sure he was running a fever. He’d felt gross all day, hadn’t slept the night before, and was probably sick from stress, but this wasn’t something he was going to put off. Lives were at stake. Jason would go without him, and if he didn’t go alone that would mean another one of his siblings would be risking themselves in this place. He had to see this through, scratchy throat and fever aside.

They’d been following a trail of green symbols, graffiti sprayed onto different parts of the building. They were markers to point out where to go, what to do, which rooms were operational and which were still for show. He’d thought Jason had stopped with him, but the man had pushed on ahead and down one of two paths. One was short, ending in a climbing staircase. The other stayed on ground level, but turned off deeper into the building.

Up or down? Dick listened for footsteps, but any footsteps would indicate one of the men they were looking for and not Jason’s presence. The point was stealth. If his brother was being loud he was doing it wrong.

Dick’s gut said up, but it always said up. He was an up kind of person. Get as high as possible. Climb until everything was left behind. Fly through the air. He couldn’t let desires distract him from the job. They were looking for an office, files, information, proof, maybe even the head honcho himself. Up would be maintenance, with the possibility of offices. The ground floor was the better option. If it was wrong they could double back.

He left the stairs wishing he’d climbed them and ducked down the other hallway. Wishing he’d just stayed in bed. His head was starting to pound from the little exertion he’d done. Alfred was right, patrolling while sick was never a good idea.

He found the factory floor a few minutes later. Wide, and open in the front, but more and more clogged the further in he looked. There were machines, smelts, and stacks of metal sheets. Further back, his sight was crowded by boxes and crates. A huge rusted welding machine stood out. It was tall, and obscured the left wall. The offices, or another hallway could be tucked back there. He eased his way forward hoping Jason was just out of sight.

Then metal boomed, twisted, and screeched on itself. Dick’s attention snapped up, his eyes landing on Red Hood, dangling off a metal walkway, hands fumbling at a rope slung around his neck. A hulk of a man stood above him, pulling still, despite the fact that the walkway seemed ready to collapse in on itself.

Dick was helpless to do anything. _Up._ Why hadn’t he gone up? The metal was screaming again, and Dick knew if Jason wasn’t dead from the fall and yank of the rope he might not be able to recover from the whole mass collapsing. He should do something. Should attempt to catch Jason. Or just move.

With the little sleep he’d caught the night before he had dreamed of Jason hanging. Of Damian beside him. Of himself helpless as Bane hauled his brother’s up and up and up. Of watching drugged, and unable to move. But it wasn’t really a dream. It was a memory. The memory of a mistake that almost cost them their lives. Almost cost Batman the rest of his Robins. He’d agreed to it. Had spurred Damian and Jason beside him to take out Bane. Robins don’t listen to Batman. They should have listened that time.

His feet were nailed to the ground. His legs rods. He couldn’t move. Suddenly couldn’t breathe. Jason was going to die. Jason might already be dead, hanged. Dick had failed to save him from that fate not once but twice now.

Metal screamed, he flinched, blinking, and Jason was gone. Had he been there at all? Dick was sick. Head pounding. Chest heaving. Vision spinning. What was he sick from? The fever? Jason? Both. He was going to throw up. No, he couldn’t breathe. Both. His feet were still stuck. Legs firm like they’d been cemented in place.

He couldn’t breathe. Jason hadn’t died then. Bane had been careful about that. Crush Batman, but not too much. Make an example out of his birds, but don’t kill them. Not yet. Dick had watched him hang his brothers. Dick had watched Jason hang now. He didn’t know what to do.

He was sick. He was sick and Jason was gone. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t catch his air to breath. It was like he was being strangled again, hauled up to hang by his brother’s in the cave.

They’d made him watch.

No. Jason was fine. He was resourceful. Dick’s eyes scanned the upper equipment. There, a grapple line. He ran, dodging equipment, the whole time he was trying to shove all his fears and worries, all the guilt, back in their own boxes. He couldn’t be falling apart in front of Jason, he needed to make sure his brother was okay.

He sucked in air, hoping that alone would normalize the color of his face or stop any wild look in his eyes. He stumbled around the large machine separating them and stopped, Jason was there, catching his own breath. He looked up at Dick and gave him a thumbs up. It should have eased the guilt and panic swimming in Dick’s chest, instead it seemed to make it worse.

* * *

Jason’s first response was to grin, then he turned it to a thumbs up when he remembered Dick couldn’t see the smile. Neither would have done him any good, not with how pale his brother was looking.

He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, gloves soothing some of the ache already building there. “Sorry about the scare.” he said, “The good news is the guy didn’t fall with me.”

He half joked assurance didn’t seem to be making a dent in Dick’s worry. He was looking at Jason like he’d come back from the dead again. There was more wrong, Jason noticed. Under the pale panic Dick was sweating, his eyes gleaming. With worry? Fear? Something else?

There wasn’t a reason for Dick to be sweating unless he’d been in a fight between losing Jason and now. Nothing else seemed to indicate his brother had been fighting. Jason’s scare wasn’t enough to spark the perspiration either. Which meant something was off with Dick.

“You alright?” he asked.

This seemed to snap his brother back to attention, “I’m fine, it’s you I’m worried about.”

Jason waved him off, “I’m peachy. I’ll have some spectacular bruises in the morning, but--” he shrugged.

The fact was, he’d probably wake up the next morning and decide moving was a no go for the next few days. It wasn’t going to be fun, but it was better than dying again. His back was already reminding him about how it had caught his fall against the walkway, and while he’d finally caught his breath, his abused neck was not letting him forget it wasn’t happy either. With all that, Dick still didn’t seem relieved, watching Jason with a careful eye.

“Alright, spill it.” He said, losing patience with the man. They had things to do, they were in this factory for a reason and it wasn’t so Dick could waste time memorizing the shape of his helmet. “What’s got you so off kilter?”

Dick sucked in a breath, “Nothing. I’m fine. I told you it’s you--”

“You’re worried about, yeah I know. Why?”

Mask or no Jason knew a deadpan stare when he received one.

He huffed, “I didn’t die. I’m fine. What about the whole thing bothered you? We deal with this kind of crap all the time.”

“It’s nothing, really. We’re wasting time.” Dick said, his voice would have been authoritative if he’d had complete control over it. As it was Jason caught the undercurrent of worry still lacing it.

He let Dick lead the way deeper into the factory. He wasn’t going to let the issue drop, but Dick was right. They were wasting time. They could catch the baddies then Jason would get to the bottom of whatever was bothering his brother so much.

Jason made sure to stick close by Dick this time. Meaning, when they burst into one of the building’s offices and were met with a rain of gunfire, he was close enough to knock a too slow Nightwing to the ground.

“Get your head on straight.” he snapped, before darting into action, his guns pulled from their holsters as he stood.

His brother must have taken his advice, because within five minutes they’d rounded up the men in the office, Dick by his side. It was a good chunk of the operation’s men, sequestered in the tiny room in an attempt to hide from the vigilantes. As if they’d thought Dick and Jason would miss them there. Or that they’d turn tail and run after the accident in the main room. Idiots.

They left them tied up in an uncomfortable clump in the room and moved on to find anyone else still in the building and collect vital evidence to turn over to the police. The second of the office rooms was empty of people. The first thing he noticed was the line of filing cabinets along a wall. Once he’d flipped the light on Jason saw that dust littered some parts of the room, while it was bare from others. It had been used recently, but for what they’d have to figure out. The filing cabinets were mostly dust free, part of the desk, and the computer. But the shelves, and a half sized wood cabinet, were turned a shade lighter with disuse. Cobwebs danced between a large standing light Jason had turned on, and the blinds behind it.

Jason busied himself with the filing cabinet, while Dick started at the desk, sitting heavily in the chair. Jason slid a drawer open and flipped through the contents trying to decide if they were from the original operation or the new one.

“So. You gonna tell me what’s wrong now?” Jason asked, “Or do you need to get almost shot again to feel like opening up?”

Dick didn’t answer him. Jason turned, ready to yell at him about being stupid and whatever it was bothering him had better be good, and froze. Dick’s head was cradled in his hands, his back rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Jason swore, and hurried over, “What happened, did they hit you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The words flooded out of his mouth in a rush. The day had been too filled with close calls for him to go into anything less than worried mode at the sight of Dick like this. His hands were already pulling at Dick’s so he could get a look at his brother’s torso, and make sure a bullet hadn’t lodged itself in his arm or shoulder, nicked and ear, anything.

Dick pushed his worried hands away and shook his head, leaning it back against the top of the chair, hair catching up some of the dust and cobwebs still tangled on top of the cracked leather. The sweat was worse, his face pale. His chest still rose and fell too fast. How had Jason missed that in the moments they’d taken moving to the other room?

“Mmm fine.” Dick groaned, “Not hurt.”

“Well something’s sure as hell wrong.” Jason snapped, he was still worried and didn’t know where to aim it anymore.

His brother tilted his head at him, “Head hurts. Everything else too. I think I’m sick. I can’t breathe right.”

“Let me guess, you thought you’d be fine? Figured whatever it was wasn’t too bad? Was this what was bothering you earlier?”

Dick shook his head again, “Nah, that was other stuff. Older memories.” he frowned, “I messed up.”

Jason had a feeling Dick wasn’t talking about that evening.

* * *

Dick was going to throw up. Or maybe he was going to pass out. He’d been dizzy before the firefight. Adrenaline had helped him forget that, but the moment things were quiet and he’d sat down everything rushed back at him in a sickening wave.

More than that, Jason was talking to him, and he was talking back. Admitting his guilt in a way. And if he was going to start he might as well finish. Maybe he’d pass out halfway through and save himself the humiliation of a full confession.

He lifted his head off the back of the chair and really looked at Jason, “I’m sorry.” he said.

His brother was confused. Even if he couldn’t see it in his face he could read it in the way he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, and kept shifting his legs.

“I’ve been having nightmares.” Dick said, not sure where to start.

His head was hurting, and he didn’t know how to build the bridge of guilt that had gotten Dick to the point he was now for Jason. How did he tell him that seeing him being strangled had sent Dick spiraling back to when they’d fought Bane. When he’d almost let the rest of his family die?

“I never apologized for messing up.” he tried again.

Jason’s helmet came off and found a place on the desk by Dick’s elbow. Now he could really read the worry there. If he didn’t hurry his brother was going to drag him back to the cave for Alfred to worry over and order to bed and then he wouldn't be able to say anything.

He decided to put things together, “I’ve been dreaming of the fight with Bane.” Dick said, “I pushed you and Damian into going, I spearheaded the let’s ignore Batman movement--”

“If you say it’s your fault I will stab you.” Jason said, “Guilt, anxiety, or whatever’s going on does not matter. I will do it.”

Dick opened his mouth to argue but instead of speaking words he started coughing. Once that started Dick found he couldn’t stop. His chest heaved with what felt like months of held back coughing. He was suddenly really hot.

“I can’t breathe.” he wheezed, as Jason’s hand found his shoulder, steadying him.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the coughs eased. A cool hand pressed to his forehead. Dick’s eyes flitted up to see one of Jason’s gloves dangling from his other hand, the bare one moving away from Dick’s face. He kind of wanted it back. The cold had been nice.

“You bimbus.” Jason hissed, “You’ve got a fever. You’re sick. You came on patrol sick as a _dog_. No wonder you almost died back there.”

“Bimbus?” Dick asked, cracking a smile.

Jason glared at him, “You don’t deserve a proper swear, not for being such a--”

“Bimbus?” Dick said really letting himself smile at that. He might feel like crap, and worse, but that didn't mean he was going to miss the chance to poke fun at his brother.

“Shut it. Can you stand? We’re leaving.”

Dick shook his head, “We can’t. We don’t have everything yet.”

He hadn’t admitted everything yet.

“We’ve done enough. The police can handle the rest.”

Dick found himself being pulled out of the chair. His arm was tugged over Jason’s shoulders. Then he was being dragged, pulled from the room and the secrets it contained.

“Jay, please.” he said, then had to stop. A tickle in the back of his throat threatened to make the coughing start back up. He swallowed, “We have to make sure they go down for this. People have died.”

“They’ll go down, there’s enough evidence here to put them away for good. Could you help a bit or am I really going to have to drag you all the way?”

Dick looked down at his limp legs. He’d forgotten to try to move them. He was tired. Aching. Everything had ached minutes after they’d gone after Bane. He’d known they were coming. Caught them like flies in a web. Jason had carried him like this. Dick took the brunt of the fighting, trying to protect his brothers the moment he knew there was a problem.   

“I’m sorry.” he said again, “I messed up. It is my fault. I pushed you and Damian into going.”

“Stop. I can’t even stab you right now. It’d be too pathetic.” Jason said, something off in his voice. Like he was trying to distract Dick from the flood of words. But he needed this. Needed to let him know.

“I keep dreaming about it. About what he did. Jay, I’m sorry I’m so sorry. I--he, he hung you and I couldn’t keep him from doing it.”

“He hung you too.” his brother’s voice was soft.

Dick shook his head, his hair brushing against his brother’s shoulder. “Doesn’t matter.”

He could see it again. He was watching Bane grab Damian. Hold him back as his men drugged Jason, then Dick, and finally Damian himself. It hadn’t been much. Just enough to weaken their muscles, drain the fight from them. Bane’s too large hand gripped his head, dragged it up, pulled an eye open, the batcave scanning a positive ID. The car had been bumpy, rattling across the road. No wait, flip those. The car then the cave. Then the rope. Dick thought he was going up first. They yanked Damian up. Slow. Steady. Not enough to break anything.

“The hell it doesn’t.” Jason snapped. “You think you have a monopoly on guilt? That the fight going sour was your fault alone? We were cocky Dick. Stupid and cocky. It was all our faults.”

Coughs took Dick again, and Jason stopped until he could catch his breath. Had he been hot? Now he was freezing. Dick blinked at the hallway willing it to stop tilting.

“I’m the oldest.” he said, voice cracking. “I’m the oldest, Jay. Say what you will, but I could have stopped us. Damian listens to me. And I almost got him killed, again. I almost got you both killed again.”

He couldn’t stop seeing how still Damian had been. How the color drained from his bruised and bloodied face. He was so small. So young. Dick was to blame for all the pain and fresh nightmares from that fight.

Jason had fought. Struggled as best as he could. Dick figured it was because he was bigger. The dose they gave him wasn’t strong enough to keep him down for too long. But still he’d stopped when the rope tightened.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch your two brother’s be hung?” Dick asked. “What it’s like to have your stomach sink as you realize you’ve killed them for the second time? To realize what it would do to your father?”

He wanted to throw up thinking about it. He’d thrown up remembering it the first time.

“Yeah. I do.” Jason said. “I was there, Dick. I watched it happen to two brothers also.”

Dick let his head fall against Jason’s shoulder. Everything hurt. Jason didn’t understand. It was his fault. His. He’d started this whole thing. Started Robin. Started the tradition of not following orders. He’d thought they’d picked the right road.

Tears pricked at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know. You had to watch. Damian had to watch. You both had to go through that. You had to--” he hiccupped then coughed again.

He shouldn’t be crying. It was going to make everything worse. The tears cooled his cheeks. His chest heaved and he coughed a wet sound and his stomach did cartwheels. His hand gripped Jason’s shoulder and his brother stopped. Dick flung himself far enough away he could stumble to his hands and knees, stomach emptying itself out on the ground. He heaved until it felt like he’d turned his stomach inside out and then started coughing again.

Jason reached out and wiped the corners of his mouth and pulled him into his side, “It’s okay.” his brother said, tugging him until Dick’s head fell into his lap.

He frowned, hand finding Jason’s wrist to grip it, “It’s my fault.”

* * *

Jason didn’t know where to start beyond wanting to throttle his brother himself. Dick was delirious. In and out of memories. He’d been burning up, he was still burning up, which explained the sweat and bad reaction time.

Why did everyone in his family insist on ignoring it when they were sick? Jason needed to have a talk with Alfred, or maybe Bruce about illness regulations. Dick could die. He’d curled towards Jason, and he’d stopped talking beyond a mumbled apology.

The absolute idiot.

How long had he been sitting on this mountain of guilt? Letting it steal his peace and sleep? Jason knew that answer, since the moment it happened. How dare he think everything was his fault alone. If anything Jason shared it. Damian, well Damian would follow Dick to the ends of the earth. And if Dick had said no, Jason would have convinced the kid going after Bane was the right idea. As it was they’d all been in agreement.

He could try to pin the whole thing on Bruce, but Bruce had told them to stay out of it. For once the man had been right. All they’d done was give themselves more horrors and Bruce a few new nightmare ideas.

He wasn’t going to convince Dick of that right now. The idiot was too busy drifting in and out of a fever dream. What kind of crappy karma had Jason built up for a day like this anyway? Being strangled, almost hung, and having a bridge collapsing under him should have been enough. But no, today had to toss a sick and guilty brother at him too. Fan-freakin-tastic.

He called Bruce, winced at the loud voice in his ear and yelled even louded back. At least he’d heard the car take a sharp turn, meaning beyond the yelling Bruce was coming for them.  

There was no way he was getting Dick back to the cave in this shape. He needed a car, and they’d swung to the factory. Plus he was pretty sure Dick wasn’t getting back up on his own until he’d received some real medical attention. He’d managed to get his brother to swallow some fever reducing medicine, but beyond that he had no idea what to do.

Jason sat, whispering whatever comforting words came to him until Dick had fully passed out. At this point and Jason was starting to panic. He kept glancing behind him for any stray men they’d missed. He and Dick were sitting ducks they way they were. His brother’s head cradled in his lap, and Jason on the ground, hands occupied with making sure Dick didn’t roll over and hit his head on the ground.

Bruce stalked in a few minutes later and they carried Dick out together. The angry-to-hide-his-worry line of Bruce’s mouth softened when he settled Dick into the backseat. Jason opted to stay with him in case he woke up disoriented or something caused Bruce to slam on the breaks and send the unready Nightwing toppling forward.

Then it was a case of carrying him back out. Letting everyone fuss over Dick while Jason showered, shoved a sandwich down his throat, and let Alfred fuss over the ugly bruises already forming along his neck and back. Finally, he found his way to Dick’s now comfortably sleeping side.

Bruce was sitting close, eyes on a case folder. One glance at it told Jason it was their case, the one they’d just come from.

“Gordon called.” Bruce said, by way of greeting, “They found enough evidence for an easy conviction.”

“Good.” Jason said, taking a seat and rolling it beside Bruce before he plopped down into it. “How’s Dick?”

His father hummed, closing the folder. “He’s got the flu. Alfred thinks all the action tonight helped push it into overdrive.”

Jason winced, “I didn’t know he was sick.”

Bruce nodded, “Neither did I.”

“We’ve got to get better at this.” Jason said, “You could start by setting the example.”

He felt eyes on him, and turned his head away from his sleeping brother to Bruce. He was eyeing him strangely.

“What?”

Bruce shook his head, “I think you might be right.”

Jason wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he looked back at Dick. Watched his brother’s chest rise and fall under the thin blanket, and thanked the stars nothing worse was wrong with him. He and Bruce sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Each lost in their own thoughts.

It was nice, well it would have been nice if they weren’t sitting over a sick to his teeth Dick Grayson. As it was, it was a nice as it could get. Jason didn’t just sit with Bruce anymore. He guessed he could, if he bothered to come home ever, but even as they were starting to patch things up Jason wasn’t eager to jump right back into old habits. Now he was thinking he might try a few.

Bruce stayed for almost an hour before Jason assured him he’d be there until Dick woke up. His father nodded and pulled the cowl back on. He hadn’t even bothered taking off the costume. Jason wasn’t mad, Dick wasn’t deathly ill, and patrol had to go on. Plus he was here to keep an eye on Dick. Alfred too. Damian was on his way back from a mission with Superboy and would probably only be another hour or two before he stormed in to take over guard duty.

Jason pulled a book up on his phone, but only made it a few lines in before his brother started shifting. Jason shoved his phone into his pocket and leaned forward smiling as bleary blue eyes blinked up at him.

“Hey.”

Long lashes fluttered as the eyes blinked a few more times, “Jay?”

“You are an idiot, you know that?”

Dick gave him a loopy smile, “You’ve told me.”

“A fool. But I’m glad you’ll be okay.”

Dick raised a hand and Jason took it, “What’ve I got?” he asked.

“The flu.”

Dick scoffed, “I knew it was a bad idea to get a flu shot this year.”

As nice as it was just talking to the brother who’d passed out in Jason’s arms hours earlier, he knew they’d dance around the subject until Dick convinced him to forget it.

“Now that I’ve got you here, and you’re unlikely to pass out again, let’s talk about this blame game you’ve been playing.”

Dick frowned, “Now?”

“Yes.” Jason said, “You’ll evade if we don’t.”

He saw the arrow hit and Dick’s face fell. He hated pulling it out of him, but he didn't. He knew his family. Knew how each and every one of them had their own way of bottling things up. Someone had to uncork that once in a while, and this time the lot had fallen on him.

Dick’s hand squeezed his. “I told you, it’s my fault. I’m the oldest.”

“Stop.” Jason shook his head, “Oldest or not, we all made our decision that day, Dick.” he sighed, “If we’re being honest, I don’t think even all three of us deciding not to go would have changed anything.”

Dick frowned at him.

Jason sighed, “Bane. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’m sure he’d have gone after us no matter what. He was after Batman and willing to do whatever it took to break him down. Us not going might have postponed events for a day, maybe two, but I don’t think he ever had any intention of leaving us alone. If we’d wanted to stay off his radar we never should have come into town.”

Dick looked like he was considering Jason’s words. His brows furrowed. Jason figured he’d use his trump card to seal the deal.

“I never blamed you for any of it. I’m certain Damian doesn’t either.”

Dick nodded, hand shifting so his fingers were tangled in Jason’s. “Thanks.”

He’d said it like he believed it. Tension in his shoulders and face seemed to melt out of him. A smile slipped onto his face, turning up his mouth.

“You’re a good brother.”

“So are you.” Jason said, “Now rest, because you’ve got another one hurrying to fret over you.”

Dick’s smile widened a bit, “Two brothers worrying over me. Maybe I should catch the flu more often.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Or what?” Dick asked, yawning, “You’ll call me a bimbus again?”

Jason rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too, “Something like that.”


End file.
